


The Trouble with Nappies

by sadistically_sweet



Series: The Adventures of 'Little' Sherlock and 'Daddy' John. [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Diapers, Fluff, M/M, just sweet nothingness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadistically_sweet/pseuds/sadistically_sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another work of pure, sugary fluff that'll hopefully give someone out there a smile and a giggle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trouble with Nappies

The usual order of nappies arrived in its equally usual way, in the usual discreet box of usual plain brown wrapping paper...but when John Watson cut open the package to unpack them and put them away, he noticed that these particular nappies were anything but 'usual'.

The doctor tilted his head to the side, peering down into the box with a strange expression, and reached in to tear open the secondary plastic wrapping and tugged one of the baby-fied lumps of fluff loose, then held it up for closer inspection; "Um, Sherlock...?"

Sherlock's head lifted up from his spot at the table, his back to the scene unfolding behind him, and turned slightly in John's direction. "...They sent the wrong size again, didn't they? Of all the _stupid_ , I can't even...you would think after the hell I raised last time...!"

"Uh, not the wrong _size_ , no..."

Upon hearing the tone of John's voice, Sherlock heaved an exasperated sigh and hauled himself out of his chair, then stalked over to where John stood; "Then _what_ is the prob-...?" he began, and was instantly stopped short as the doctor held up a nappy in full-view...

A nappy covered in an overlapping design of pink and red hearts.

Sherlock frowned, and John readied himself for the stream of obscenities that would surely be directed at 'those _idiots_!' at the nappy company...

"...And?"

John looked up at him, surprised; "Well, these are...these are girl's nappies, aren't they?" he asked, turning it over in his hands as if that would suddenly change the design into the multi-coloured smiley faces they usually ordered.

"What does it matter what they look like, as long as they fit?" Sherlock asked, taking the rest of the package out of the box and carrying it towards the bedroom. "Don't tell me that _you_ are one of those people hung up on 'masculine vs. feminine' stigmas, John."

John sputtered indignantly; " _Oi!_...'course I'm not!" he insisted, taking the second row of plastic-wrapped nappies and huffing after the detective. "But you're not the most likely candidate for appreciating 'pretty' things, either!"

Sherlock stopped in the doorway, causing John to nearly bowl right over him. The taller man looked down at him with that haughty 'well-aren't-you-a-certain-kind-of-special' look on his face. "We've had this discussion before, John...I can appreciate beauty as much as any other person on this earth, but for god'sakes, man...these are _nappies_ ; these are objects that I'm going to piss in-- _why_ should I care what they look like?"

John didn't offer an answer...he just glared up at Sherlock with the same expression he always wore when he refused to admit that he'd run out of arguments.

Sherlock smiled. "There, now that that's settled...what's the saying, 'no harm, no foul'?"

John rolled his eyes. "Alright, _fine_...I suppose they are kinda cute, anyway; they'll look good with your skin tone."

Sherlock snorted and turned back to the room; "You are entirely too caught up on looks, John."

"Says the vainest man in history since Caesar," the doctor snapped back, watching the other man drag out the box of nappy supplies from under the bed.

Sherlock deigned to give him a response, without looking up from his task; "I could make a remark about _stretching_ for a comeback, but that would be much too eas--"

Whatever the detective was going to follow that up with was abruptly cut-off by a pretty little pink-and-red flying nappy hitting him dead in the face.

*******

As it turns out, Sherlock was right (of course he was, was he _ever_ anything else?)...the slight fracas over the curious stamp on the nappies was soon forgotten, and it was back to business as usual; John would diaper the detective up without comment--purposefully at first, because it _was_ a bit odd seeing Sherlock in anything so overwhelmingly 'girly'--and then over the next few days, he too began to completely overlook the rows upon rows of bright, cutesy hearts...

...until one day, nearly a week later.

The pair had been having a particularly relaxed month; any cases were slow in coming (any cases interesting enough for Sherlock to consider were slower still), so the detective was taking full advantage of the opportunity to be 'little' for more than a few stray hours at a time, and actually insisted upon wearing a nappy on a daily basis.

John, naturally, had no issue with this.

Then came _the_ afternoon, the afternoon that was technically no different than any of the other casual, relaxed afternoons that had preceded it that week, when John happened to look up from where his was sitting in his chair and glance over at Sherlock, who was currently sitting on the floor in nothing but a half-unsnapped, black onesie rucked up around his waist (and no, finding a black one wasn't as hard as you would think, surprisingly), which exposed most of the heart- covered nappy he wore, while he happily played with the Rubik's cube John had dug up for him awhile back. The doctor smiled at the quaint little setting, and was just about to go back to updating his 'Daddy' blog ( _yes_ , he'd started one anonymously, and was quite proud to say that it had nearly as many readers as his normal blog, thank you very much) when his eye caught Sherlock's profile at _just_ the right angle, causing him to do a double-take...

Now, he'd always been well-aware of the uniqueness of Sherlock's features; the way they bordered on androgenous, wavering between 'macho' jawlines and set brows, to soft, pouting lips and sculpted, arched cheekbones...the detective truly _was_ a character from a renaissance portrait, a collection of carefully selected colours and shapes blended together to create an absolutely angelic visage--John knew this, had often thought about it before...and yet there were still moments where he was struck dumb by just how beautiful Sherlock was.

The little detective, remaining quite unaware of John's awestruck reverence, was studying the puzzle in his hands with mild interest while he sucked on one of his numerous dummies, until he heard the sound of John clearing his throat loudly...the volume of which already indicating that it was at least the third time his Daddy'd made the sound while trying to get his attention. He looked up at John through his eyelashes and made a quiet "Hmm?" in answer.

"There you are...what have I said about paying attention, little boy?" John semi-scolded, though he was smiling as he said it; he motioned for Sherlock to come closer with a wave of his finger. "Come here, come see Daddy for a moment."

Sherlock clambered up onto his knees and was just about to do just that, when he looked up at John expectantly...and saw something that gave him a moment's pause in mid-crawl. There was a gleam in John's eye, and it was obvious that the man was trying his best to hide it, as well as whatever idea was brewing behind those all-revealing eyes of his. Sherlock plopped back onto his bottom and regarded the man carefully, while one hand came up to twist and turn his dummy in his mouth.

 _'Damn...'_ John thought, and struggled to keep a straight face. "Sherlock...don't be naughty," he warned. "Daddy said 'come here'."

Sherlock didn't budge, except to raise a skeptical eyebrow.

"Sherly...if you don't listen, Daddy's going to take your puzzle back and put you in the corner by yourself," John warned, and held up one finger. "One..."

Sherlock's steely gaze faltered...God, how he _dreaded_ the count!

John held another finger up and wiggled them back and forth; "Two..." he said slowly.

Sherlock's eyes grew wide and a streak of worry flashed across them...he put his hand on the floor, as if to start crawling towards John again, but he pulled back at the last second, uncertain--it was a tough thing when two distinct mindsets, 'big' and 'little', were at war with each other; Sherlock knew that he didn't want to sit by himself, and he _certainly_ didn't want Daddy upset with him!...but he didn't want to put himself in John's arms until he knew just what in the hell the man had up his sleeve, either. John watched, and he was actually able to catch a glimpse of the detective's two separate personalities clashing and tumbling behind his eyes...right before that little face crumbled with a heart-wrenching sniffle.

John gave a quiet, sympathetic laugh; "Aw, Sherlock, don't...no, don't cry! Just come here before I get to 'three' and there won't be a... _aw_ , that's not...! No, baby, c'mon..." John stopped and sighed as Sherlock completely wilted to the floor and buried his face into the carpet; usually, during his more volatile kicking and screaming fits, the doctor was able to resist and carry out the threatened punishment...but this one was just _sad_ , and John knew there was no way he could reach 'Three' now. He slid to the floor and sat right next to the hunched over figure, then wrapped his arms around it; "Okay, okay...how about you sit up and just _look_ at Daddy, is that a better idea?" he said, his tone carrying the air of defeat.

There was a loud sniffle, followed by a small, quick nod, and then Sherlock slowly, _slowly_ , sat up; his eyes were red and watery, yet his cheeks were still dry...meaning that he'd just barely impeded a full-blown strop. "There," he said gently, leaning back against the chair, pulling Sherlock along with him and looking to the heavens with a quiet sigh of 'thanks'. He tucked the little detective in the crook of one arm, whereupon Sherlock automatically rested his head on his shoulder, making John grin before giving the top of that head a kiss. "Now, what was all that about, hm? Why didn't you want to listen to Daddy...?"

Sherlock glanced up at him quickly, then looked away again...but John wasn't letting him off that easy. "Ah-ah-ah," he said, and reached out to pluck the dummy from its resting place between a pair of already-pouting lips. "Use your words and tell me what's wrong, and _then_ you can get it back," he said matter-of-factly, in an effort to make up for folding like a damn towel the moment Sherlock had started to cry.

Some part of the detective must have recognized this, because instead of whinging for it back, Sherlock actually answered him; "...You were planning something," he said quietly.

"No I wasn't...!" John began to protest, but gave up once he saw the expression on the detective's face...'little' Sherlock did _not_ equate to 'believes-your-BS' Sherlock. "Okay, well, yeah...maybe I had an idea," he admitted, "but that doesn't mean it was anything bad!" he insisted.

Sherlock kept the same expression, but John could see a little more of his adult side pushing the 'little' from his eyes. "Your 'ideas' don't alway bode well for my bum, so I'm sure you can understand the apprehension," he replied, his tone dry.

But John was not about to give up on those last shreds of 'little' just yet, and clung to them with the desperation of a drowning man...he hugged Sherlock a bit closer and began to steadily pat his lower back, right at the dip of his spine. "I see your point," he chuckled, "but in my defense, your bum is hard to keep my hands off of."

The patting did the trick, just as John hoped it would; Sherlock curled into the touch, practically purring, and sagged against John's body with a small 'hmph'. "...Dummy?" he asked, and looked up at John imploringly.

John held it right in front of Sherlock's face by the handle; "What, this?...You want _this_ thing?" he teased, swinging it slightly and tapping the once-again little detective right on the tip of the nose. Sherlock's mouth popped right open, waiting, and then he frowned as John swung it away again. John chuckled; "How are you supposed to ask for the things you want?"

"...Now?" Sherlock asked, sounding hopeful as he poked out his bottom lip slightly and pouted prettily...then gave a squeak as John pinched the only chubby area on his body, right where his arse peeked out from underneath the leghole of his nappy. "Oops, wrong answer...try again," John said.

Sherlock pouted further and reached down to cup the aggrieved area and rub the sting out. "...P'ease, Daddy?" he asked again, snuggling his cheek against John's shoulder and all but batting his eyelashes at him.

John chuckled again and slipped the dummy back home where it belonged, then hugged Sherlock to him tightly with both arms, and buried his face in a mop of curls. "God, you're too damn cute sometimes."

"Th'ometime'th?..."

John snorted; "Yes, 'sometimes'."

Sherlock appeared to think on this, taking it under consideration--but in a matter of a few seconds, before John could even react, the little detective was up and straddling John's lap, facing him and staring at him intently...then, just as the doctor began to wonder what he was up to this time, the corners of Sherlock's mouth peeked up from behind the plastic covering on his dummy in the sweetest smile that John had ever seen, one that reached all the way to his eyes and made them sparkle while he clasped his hands under his chin...

...and then _cooed_ at him.

John didn't stand a chance.

The smile that spread across John's face was a mirror-image of Sherlock's, and he reached up to cup his little boy's cheeks and gently pulled him forward, just so he could cover every inch of that sweet little face with a kiss. "Oh my _God_ , you win, you win everything; you're cute _all_ the time!" he said in between kisses and the giggles coming from that impossibly adorable man in his lap.

Sherlock ate up the attention and carried on, even grasping the front of his onesie and tugging on it with the intent to hide his face while he squealed "No!", and succeeding in popping the last snap that had been holding on for dear life, completely exposing his nappy...

...John glanced down when a quick flash of red and pink caught his eye, and was immediately reminded of the plan he'd originally intended, before he was so completely (and adorably) distracted. He sat back and held Sherlock around the hips, still chuckling at the little detective's antics. "...Want to know what Daddy was going to ask you in the first place?"

That got Sherlock's attention refocused in an instant, and he made the same high-pitched, curious 'Hmm?' noise he had earlier as he sat back on his heels and tilted his head at John.

John licked at his bottom lip nervously...even with Sherlock firmly replanted back in 'little' mode, and he back to being 'Daddy', it still felt like he was asking for permission. He cleared his throat, and hoped that when he opened his mouth, his uncertainty wouldn't reveal itself. "Daddy was wondering if," he paused, his request catching in his throat; _'Jesus, mate, man up a bit--it's not the weirdest thing you've ever asked him,'_ he thought, and then took a deep breath and tried again..."Will you let Daddy put your hair in bunches?" he asked quickly.

The smile vanished from Sherlock's face as he stared at John blankly, for several moments, until a deep frown creased his brow and caused his nose to crinkle at the top, and he shook his head quickly. "Uh-uh!" he grunted.

Well, John had been expecting that sort of reaction, at least, so he wasn't too disappointed. "Aw, why not?" he asked, mock-pouting back at the little detective.

"N'yot a _gurl_!" Sherlock slurred back at him, and tried to pull away...but John still had a firm hold on his hips, keeping him right where he was. "I didn't say that you were," John said, with a sly grin slowly spreading across his face... _oh_ , he had the little shit now; "Boys can have bunches in their hair too, if it's long enough...or is that too 'feminine' for you?"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed into sharp slits as he realized the angle John was using, and quickly yanked the front flap of his onesie back down, covering the damned nappy that had started this all, and shook his head with a very staunch 'no'. "Y'er ny'ot 'unny!"

"I'm not tryin'ta be funny!" John said, laughing despite himself...seeing Sherlock's unwavering expression, though, helped him reign it back in. "Aw, Sherlock, love...I don't ask for much, do I? No, don't answer that, it was rhetorical...look, just...if you let me put your hair up, just this _once_ , I'll..." John paused, thinking of a bribe suitable for both the big/little individual still crouching in his lap and staring daggers at him; "...I'll let you go to the zoo, after hours, and let you break into _one_ exhibit, with no chance of a time-out or a spanking."

The little detective's demeanour instantly reformed, and his ears perked up...he put his fingers over his dummy and took on that dead-stare that always came along when he was deep in thought. When he finally became alert again and shifted his gaze back to John as he removed his dummy for negotiations, the doctor could already see that this was not going to turn out quite the way he'd planned. "...Three exhibits, of _my_ choosing, and I get to pet what's inside."

 _'Shit.'_ "Two exhibits, and I promise to only pull you back if I think there's an obvious threat of you becoming a menu item."

Sherlock paused and thought again; "...Do you even know _how_ to do up bunches?"

John grinned; ha-ha, _victory_! "How hard could it be?"

*******

Later on that afternoon, John was at the kitchen counter, filling a bowl with several large scoops of ice cream. "Love, I didn't mean to pull your hair _that_ hard..." he said, sounding a bit sheepish.

A sniffly little detective sat with his chin propped on the table, red-cheeked and watery-eyed...with two perfect, fluffy piles of ringlets topping either side of his head. "It's up to four exhibits now," he said sullenly, watching as John walked from the counter back to the refrigerator, where he pulled out an aerosol can of whipped topping and began to pile it on high on top of the ice cream. Sherlock sat up and put his fingers to his mouth, eyeing the bowl with interest; "...maybe just three," he said quietly.

John chuckled to himself and, after fishing out a spoon from one of the drawers and knocking it shut with his hip, carried the bowl over to the table and slid it over to the little pigtail'ed detective, who dug in with gusto. John sat and propped his elbow on the table, then rested his chin in his hand; "Okay, three," he said, watching the little guy with no small amount of affection, even as he considered exactly what _sort_ of animals Sherlock had in mind (with his luck, they'd be the kind that had too many legs, no legs at all, or the right amount of legs with a set of sharp teeth on the other end); he let his gaze linger on the tufts of hair that stuck out and bounced around cutely with every move of Sherlock's head, and John smiled again...

Well, no matter what the man picked...it was _definitely_ worth it.


End file.
